8ecau2e Ii Wa2 8ored
by guesswhatimahomestuck
Summary: Sollux Captor turns into a runaway the night after his brother's funeral. No clothes, no money, no food, and not a clue what he's doing. But when a street-savvy girl with the attention span of a fly begrudgingly decides to help him, he realizes that maybe food and money aren't his biggest problems. Not with adventures and sekrets like her's. Bad summary is bad. Humanstuck. Solvris.
1. Chapter 1

8ecau2e Ii Wa2 8ored

Sollux G. Captor. 16. 140 pounds, 6'1". Neutral skin tone, multi colored eyes and short copper hair. Enrolled in Skaia High School with exemplary scores but spotty attendance. No criminal or disciplinary record. Lives with his father due to having a deceased mother. His older brother, Mituna Captor is 18, attends the same school, and lives with his brother.

At least, he used to.

* * *

Your name is Sollux Captor, and as you watch the brown casket descend into the ground, all you feel is anger. The casket is bulky and the pulleys are obviously uneven as one side tips down further than the other. The mahogany casing is caked over with dirt and clay from the only shitty plot your family could afford, and the gray stone only has a few scratchy letters etched into it: Mituna Captor. However, none of those things explain why you're angry.

The reason is him. Your father. He stands across from you, the six-foot hole in the ground between you two being the only thing keeping you from tackling him to the ground and punching his lights out. His face is twisted in grief, the look perfected with tracks of tears decorating his cheeks, puffy red oculars, and a handkerchief close at hand. Even his multi-colored eyes -the exact same as yours- are welled with pain. Watery blue on the left and muddy brown on the right.

His stupid face makes you want to punch a wall. He doesn't deserve to mourn. He isn't even worthy of being at Mituna's funeral.

_It's all his fucking fault anyway. Mituna didn't just _decide_ to stop breathing a few days ago! Dad didn't just _decide_ to down a million shots of vodka and then give Mituna a finger-necklace!_

Whoa, deep breaths there, buddy.

But, you swear; you'll throttle anyone who claims you're wrong.

You don't even hear the prayers being said over your brother, or the good wishes thrown your way as the ceremony comes to a close. It's all distracting, white noise in the background. The only thing you can concentrate on is Dad's face and hoping you'll get a chance to punch it without him noticing. Fat chance of that though, so you settle on shamelessly shooting glares in his direction. His blatant ignorance of your looks only fuels the hatred making your blood boil.

The car ride back home was torture, mostly because he wouldn't let you drive. He'd kept up with the stupid weepy act, tearfully claiming that it was the least he could do for you. Holy hell, was that annoying. Not to mention total bullshit. You settle into the passenger seat with a sulking hunch to your back, deciding to ignore him for the rest of the ride, and praying that he doesn't accidentally drive you over a cliff. You wouldn't have been surprised by the idiot.

He'd "gathered" himself by the time you opened the door to your apartment, setting his face into a straight line and tossing his tissues into the trash. He nodded at you and even managed a small smile, a rare occurrence even before a dead family member. But the way he shuffled past you to get inside made your skin prickle with unease. The anger had ebbed during the hour drive, and null emotion was taking its place.

You pretended not to see when Dad went directly for the fridge. You turned a deaf ear to the pop of a bottle being opened. You decide it's not worth it. It's better to just lock yourself in your room and wait for morning.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

Two hours was all it took.

It had started out quiet. Nice a peaceful, with plenty of space to think and work on a program for your computer. But by the time you'd finished that, he'd started shouting. You couldn't even understand what he was saying, but it was angry and frustrated and chilling. You were tense even before he started chucking shit around.

You try to block out the crashes of thrown bottles and shattering glass with focusing on a new code for your battered laptop, but it's easier said than done. Your hand twitches each time another bottle is broken, and you have become very familiar with the backspace button in the past few minutes.

Roars of rage and incoherent words filter through the locked door and you jump when a bottle thuds against the wood separating you and the rest of the house. It's enough to make you go still and stare at the door.

Crash!

Another bottle explodes against the wood. You only flinch this time, but your jaw clenches in apprehension. The yelling has quieted down and you can't hear any footsteps, but that only makes you feel worse.

You suck in and hold your breath.

Squeeeeeeeek.

You want to blame that noise on the old apartment flooring, but it sounds too much like a step right outside your door to be reassuring. Your fingers press unconsciously into the home row keys on your keyboard. A line of F's darts across the screen.

Creaaaaa-K.

The lock on the door keeps the handle from turning, silencing it mid-creak. A frustrated grunt followed by lots of jiggling makes you slowly push the laptop off your knees. You stand from your bed and watch the door as it shakes and groans.

"Sollux." Your dad's voice is quiet and gravelly from yelling. He's stopped trying to open the door, but he's so close to it you can hear his heavy breathing. The reek of alcohol leaks through the door and contaminates everything in reach of its invisible tendrils.

"Open this door." His voice remains monotone and calm, but you make no move towards the knob. A moment of silence passes between you two. You absent-mindedly count to ten.

"Sollux." Louder, more forceful. You flinch. Six was as high as you'd gotten.

"Sollux!" His fist lands on the wood and you take a half step back. Eight.

"SOLLUX!" He starts really pounding onto the door, the entire wall shuddering from his force. His voice rises into more roars of swear words and demands for you to open the lock. Ten.

BANG! BANGBANG!

Each punch matches your heart rate as it spikes through the roof. You'd backed up all the way to the opposite wall, your window's pane digging into your side as your mind blanks out on what to do. You idly wonder where all your anger went. Because all you have now is fear.

CrruuunCH.

Your eyes widen as a foot long crack suddenly appears in the door. The poundings pause, as though surprised by this new development as well, but then they pick up with new vigor. The crack's fingers reach and stretch their designs into the white wood.

_Oh shit._

_Ohshitohshitohshit._

_He's gonna kill me. He's gonna get in here and kill me. Just like Mituna._

_I'm going to end up six feet under unless I do something. Think, Sollux, THINK!_

Panic turns your blood to ice and you look around your room wildly. Not much in here. Nothing to defend yourself with, that's for sure. You slide along the wall and a splinter on your window pane pricks the skin of your forearm.

"Shit!" You whirl around and realization hits you as your gaze is greeted with a square of see-through glass. You'd forgotten about your window. It opens up into a nice view of the bricks of the apartment complex about ten feet away. The bottom is black with asphalt and looks forbiddingly bottomless in the dark. It's littered with dumpsters closed and open, but fortunately -or unfortunately- there isn't one directly under your window.

On a whim, you throw the locks open and shove the glass up. It slides away without a hitch, and the opening is just big enough for you to sit under. The screen is easy to kick out and you stick your feet through the window so that you're sitting right on the edge.

Now all that separates you and flying is air particles.

The crashing behind you fades into background noise.

Your breath catches and your blood pounds in your ears.

You lean forward and...

Hesitate.

_What if-_

A sickeningly loud crunch makes your head jerk back towards the door. Your stomach drops as the motion rips away your grip on the windowpane and your body tilts sideways into open air.

But you can't look away from the door, even as you fall backwards. What you see makes your heart clench in a painfully foreign way. Dad's meaty fingers are poking through a pizza-sized hole in the wood and clawing pieces away from it. His beady, hate-filled eyes peer through the opening. Your own eyes stare back at you and call for you to die.

A glimpse is all you got, a glimpse is all you needed.

And now, you're falling.

From the second story of an apartment.

Down.

Down.

Down.

* * *

A/N: So yeah, I already posted an attempt at this story. But I posted it at a really weird hour, I was brain dead and did almost no editing so when I got up the next day and reread it, I absolutely hated it. This is the rewrote version, and is -hopefully- a lot better than the first. If you read that one, I am truly sorry you had to live through that xD

Please review, favorite and follow! I'm excited about this story because it'll be a lot of fluff, smut (eventually), and sexual tension as the fic goes on. My first ever rarepair whoot!

Also, sorry if Sollux is a little OC, it's hard to bring his character out in this situation because I don't have any examples of it (canon) but I'll make him seem more like himself in later chapters. If you have any advice on Sol, I'd love to hear it please c:


	2. Chapter 2

8ecau2e Ii Wa2 8ored

Sollux G. Captor. 16. 132 pounds, 6'1". A little under a week has passed since he fell from his apartment window. Sollux has yet to find a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and clean water that actually tastes normal. He has no way of contacting relatives or friends, and doesn't dare go to the police force.

He's currently stumbling around through the city with a stress fracture in his vertebrae and a broken rib.

* * *

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you don't exactly remember going for a swim before falling asleep last night.

Oh yeah, that's right.

You didn't.

So why the fuck are your clothes all wet? Quit being vague already!

Well, it might have something to do with the bastard who thought it was funny to dump beer all over me...

You flinch away from the sudden splash of lukewarm alcohol and mutter out a few swear words, groggily trying to open your eyes. The whiskey's musty and nasty and some of it unfortunately managed to dribble into your open mouth.

"Ugh..." You push yourself upright and swipe the back of your hand across your jaw. Fatigue immediately makes your limbs feel like jelly as you make a half-hearted attempt to stand up. But almost as instantly, you plop back down onto the ground. Your lower back is becoming an increasing worry to you; you can't twist or bend over, and each time you take a semi-deep breath, you feel like your stomach is going to explode.

"Shit." Your lisp makes the word sound like "thit," though you hardly even care enough right now to fix your speech. After another attempt to stand, and another wave of nausea and pain forces you back onto your butt, you decide that maybe sitting here for a little while won't be too much of a bad thing. You take a glance around, your memory of the area a little fuzzy since you'd stumbled in here half blind and half asleep.

The first thing you notice is that it's still dark, meaning that you'd only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Either that or you'd slept through the entire day too. Both were equally plausible, and you didn't really have the energy to check your broken watch and find out.

The second thing you notice is that the person who'd soaked you was gone.

You glance around, mildly confused. An empty beer mug sits on the ground a few feet away from you, its outline barely visible in the dim lighting. That suddenly struck you as strange. You don't know all that much about hobos, but you're pretty sure that druggies like to keep their shit with them. It's all they have after all. Which begs the question as to why someone decided to dump their shit all over you?

A weird feeling sticks in your stomach and you force yourself to your feet, somehow making sure you don't scream in the process. You narrow your mismatched eyes and peer down both sides of the alleyway you'd fallen asleep in.

The world swims and blurs every couple of seconds, and the swaying of your body over your feet makes you want to puke. You have to steady yourself by keeping a hand on the corner of the dumpster you've been using as a headrest. The grime from its rusty metal surface smears off onto your hand, but you barely notice. It's just adding to the rest of the collection. The same filth covers almost every available square inch of your clothes -which are heavily stained, torn in most areas, and now sticking uncomfortably to your skin from sogginess.

That weird feeling stays with you when you don't end up seeing anyone lurking in the shadows or behind similar dumpsters.

_Why would a homeless person waste a semi-not-so-decent cup of beer on waking a total stranger? Either someone was trying to wake me up, or they're just batshit crazy?_

You're not sure you should even ask.

In a few seconds, though, you end up finding out why that hobo got the fuck out of there.

A loud whoop shatters the semi-silence of your alley and your head jerks in its direction. A small pinprick of light bounces around the corner and into view along with the thunderous replying hollers of words you can't make out. Several other beams of light pursue the first and they all dance erratically on the walls, the asphalt, and up into your eyes. You flinch away from the light, but stay in place. Your curiosity is getting the best of you. Or you're just way too tired to process what's going on properly.

The sound of galloping feet joins the rest of their rambunctious noises and that weird feeling in your gut turns into a ball of icy dread and fear.

You started running when you heard what they were shouting.

"Hey! There's that kid!" You'd never seen them before in your life.

"He better have the money he owes us, right boss?!" Money? You don't have any money.

"Let's get him, boys!"

_Shit._

Your feet pound against the pavement as you sprint down the alleyway, opposite direction of the crazy goons who think you owe them cash. It takes exactly zero point five two seconds for your entire torso to light up in fire. Even on a good day sprinting would wind you, but with little sleep, no food, and pain like wildfire all over, you're sucking in air like it's candy to a toddler.

_Damn, why does this fucking alley have to be so long?_

To your dismay, the chase is over in seconds. You see the flashlight beams coming closer with each stride, and soon they're on top of you. You try to find another gear, try to run faster, but you're simply too weak.

_I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die- SHII-_

An iron-hard hand appears out of nowhere and connects with the side of your head, sending your feet tripping and your body straight sideways. Your shoulder thuds against wood, and somewhere in your mind you register that it's a door. You slide onto your back side, leaning against the door and grimacing in pain. Arm clutching your side, legs shifting and kicking at the ground, you look everything like a scared and wounded animal. Cornered prey, ready for an eating.

The rest of the group catches up, whooping and hollering in drunken triumph. They're all super loud and reek of alcohol, and you want to vomit all over them. Improve them somewhat. You wonder how you're even capable of making jokes in your situation, but the sarcasm slips out so easily.

Their flashlights are shining on your and at your face so you can't make out what any of them look like. You raise a hand to cover your eyes, but your wrist is instantly snatched up and twisted painfully. You stifle a yelp as a beam of light disappears from view and two beady black eyes swoop in to replace it.

"Where's the money, kid?" His breath washes over you, and you have to fight the urge to cough and gag.

"I-I don't-" You start, stammering, but he yanks you right off the ground by your arm and then immediately slams you back against the door.

"I said, where's the fucking money!?" He snarls at you and then lets your limb go, causing you to land painfully on your back right where you'd started. A few of his friends laugh behind him, purposefully strobing their flashlights and blinding you alternately.

You don't answer this time and their chuckling dies down into silence. The goon right in front of you frowns and then scowls. His fist shoots out and slams against the wood behind you, making you jump. As if your nerves weren't friend already. The grin slowly replaces itself on his lips and he laughs.

"Boys, sounds like he ain't got our cash." His tiny black eyes never leave you, but he talks over his shoulder. He drags out each word, slurring them and making sure that everyone is listening to the lilting slowness. Fear makes your blood run cold and you cower away from his spitting mouth. You don't even care how pathetic you look. Your pride scurried off and left you when the hulk smashed your head sideways.

"Whaddaya say we teach him a lesson?" A volley of whoops and cheers answer him and his yellow teeth make another surprise appearance as he looks back at you and grins. He back pedals and disappears from your sight as the beam of light returns to blind you.

_No. No no, shit!_

A fist swings into your vision milliseconds before your right eye stops working. Your head snaps back and before you can recover from that first blow, two others land. These were kicks. Two pairs of boots strike you from either side, making your breath fail your lungs, and agonizing pain envelope your senses. A third hit lands on your chin and as your head jerks to the side, you taste coppery blood coating your tongue.

You feebly try to raise your arms and cover your face, but one of the hulks grabs your wrists and pins them against the wood above your head. Punches and kicks rain down on you. One of them is carefully aimed and sent straight up testicle alley.

"Ahhhgggg!" You shout out, curling your knees into your chest as the blows pause for laughter. It fills your ears and you suddenly realize you've started crying. You can't make out the jokes they crack or the hollers of triumph. All you can think about is-

CRACK!

Like a firecracker, only ten times louder and accompanied with the sound of shattering glass. Everyone, including you, goes deathly silent as the only noise heard is the water-falling of broken glass. Falling from a recently broken window, three feet away from you.

"He's got back up!"

"Shit!"

"Boss, let's go!"

There's suddenly a whirl of commotion, and all you can hear is running footsteps and growled curses receding into the distance. The lack of hands holding you allows your body to slump down, onto your side. You peer through squinted eyes as the beams of light bounce and dance farther away from you. You can still hear them, whooping and hollering about an awesome "lesson."

You know you should be angry. Or at least humiliated. You just got the ever-loving shit beat out of you for absolutely no reason, and by drunken pricks that are scared of gunshots. But you can't bring yourself to care at the moment. All you want to do is sleep. Maybe curl up and die a little bit. Just some peace and quiet would be nice. You can still feel the imprint of that one guy's sneaker on your crot-

What feels like a paddle suddenly whacks right into your backside, shoving you face-first into the center of the alley. Only intelligence tells you that the paddle had actually been the door being shoved open. Tumbling forward a few feet, you bite your lip in order to keep from screaming at the pain that shoots all over your body. You are suddenly bathed in a thick stream of light, only interrupted by the outline of a tall figure. You groan and squeeze your eyes shut in agony, slowly flipping yourself over to face your new enemy.

_This day just keeps getting better and better._

You squint your eyes and blink in the disorienting change of lighting. But as soon as the image before you swims into focus, you freeze and hold your breath.

All you can see is the black, circular barrel of a pistol staring you right between the eyes.

_Great._

* * *

A/N: I don't have much to say about this chapter other than I hope you liked it! Also, who do you think is the lerson holding the gun? Will they pull the trigger? Remember to follow and review! Ta for now c:


	3. Chapter 3

8ecau2e Ii Wa2 8ored

Sollux G. Captor. 16. 132 pounds, 6'1". A little under a week has passed since he fell from his apartment window and since then, he has been wandering around the city without food, water, or shelter. Due to a recent and excessive beat-down by a local gang, he has sustained further injuries in addition to his previous wounds: A vertebrae stress fracture, two broken ribs, and severe bruising to his abdominal area.

He's also in the middle of a staring contest with a pistol.

* * *

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you think you've stopped breathing.

But then again, you might not even have to consider the action in a few seconds. Your vision is tunneled, and you can only see one thing: The death awaiting you.

There's a tiny, inch-in-diameter black hole centered right in between your eyes. Yet somehow it's the biggest thing you've ever seen. It's going to swallow you up, consume you, and destroy you. The thought presses down on your chest, suffocating the small amount of air you're managing to inhale, and you now know just how worthless you are. Even though you were starving and lost, you hadn't expected to fail so miserably on your own. Not to mention so soon.

The pain in your body is almost enough to distract you from imminent death. You switch between the two in indecisive agony. Death, pain. Death, pain, death, pain... It's white hot and throbbing all over. You can't even feel your entire left side except for tiny pins and needles pricking at your skin. That means your nerves are fried and can't even register the pain anymore.

Your attention returns to the ebony circle about to permanently end you. You'd never actually looked away from it, and now its presence demands your full attention. The rest of the world fades away as minutes tick by. Or maybe it's seconds. Or maybe a single heartbeat. You honestly don't know.

_Bullets are supposed to be fast._

_Maybe it wouldn't even hurt._

The thought suddenly strikes you as a not-so-bad thing. Maybe it's better than the hell you're being forced to feel and live through right now. Maybe you want-

"你是谁？" A voice cuts through your thoughts.

"..." You squint against the glaring light, still unable to see past the barrel and at the person holding the gun. It's obviously feminine, but the voice is sour and hard. Its tone says 'Don't you dare fuck with me.' As if the gun didn't already convey that message. But other than that, you have no idea what she's saying.

"你是谁，你为什么在这里？" She repeats, along with some extra gibberish, when you don't answer fast enough. The pistol is shoved closer to you, and it's plenty enough to make you flinch.

"Ah!" You want to cringe at how pathetic your own voice sounds, but instead you scramble backwards and away from the barrel of her gun.

"我不会再问！" She takes a threatening step towards you, and the black circle bobs in your direction again. It sends a shock of cold fear tingling down your spine.

"I don't know!" You barely manage to choke it out. The words sting coming out of your throat, but it's nothing compared to the agony coursing through your torso. You keep trying to scramble back -with little progress accompanying your efforts. And the small movements you do make are like hot pokers being pressed against raw tissue.

Dread makes your muscles tense into coils. She probably doesn't even understand you with whatever language she's speaking, and you just know she's going to shoot you now. Oh how screwed over you are. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the crack of the bullet.

_Oh god._

_Oh shit._

...

Silence.

"... So you obviously don't speak Chinese." Her voice breaks the silence instead of a firecracker. You're somewhat surprised when you actually understand what was said, but still cannot find your voice. Instead, you slowly open your eyes and lower the protective arm you'd raised over your face. It's hard to make out the figure against the blinding light from inside, but you squint and she eventually comes into focus.

The shooter has thankfully drawn the pistol away from your face, but less thankfully, its tip is still trained on you. She holds it leisurely at her side as though she doesn't want to shoot you anymore, but you can see her index finger lying against the trigger; cautious, and ready to pull. It's hard to draw your gaze away from the weapon, but you force yourself to take in the rest of her image.

You're slightly taken-aback when you realize that she's probably around your age. The way she stands defiantly, the lack of wrinkles or deep tan are indicators. Her height sets the image off, being maybe only a few inches shorter than your towering stance, but you've always had a knack for numbers regarding anything and you're pretty sure she's young.

Long black hair cascades down her back and stands out starkly against the white tank top she wore. Skinny jeans hug her legs and a pair of black combat boots makes her feet look deadly.

Your eyebrows furrow when you make it up to her face. The lower-half of it is covered with a bright blue bandana, as though she were trying to disguise her facial features. It's a lost cause, though. You immediately know that you would recognize those eyes anywhere.

Right now they're glaring and hard, but that doesn't even effect the vibrant blue of the irises. They're paler towards the outside and grow darker closer to the middle, almost blending the pupil with the dark blue. You absent-mindedly wonder if it's physically possible for a person to have that shade naturally. Before you can come to a decision, though, your thoughts are interrupted.

"You understand English, though right? Or are you just not finished leering at me?" She smirks meanfully at you.

Part of you registers that it's a little weird to hear her voice but not see her mouth move because it's behind the cloth, but the other part is still struck dumb. Her tone drips with sarcasm and she tilts the tip of the gun towards you, causing you to flinch unconsciously.

You had opened your mouth, but she doesn't give you the time to answer before continuing. "I'll ask again then. Who are you and why were the Dead Men chasing you?"

Your mind blanks out with your mouth still halfway open. Deadmen? What's she talking about? And what about you leering? You weren't leering! You were just... looking. God, you just got the ever-loving-shit beat out of you, are you not allowed to just be quiet? Damn.

A moment of awkward silence passes between you. Even though she's obscuring her facial features, her eyes are too expressive to make any difference. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head, see the mental debate she's playing out, and you wonder what she's thinking about.

It can't be good though. She looks angry.

Abruptly, she lunges towards you, both hands now clasped onto the grip of her pistol and the barrel centered between your eyes. It's enough to make you wet your pants. That is, if you had had anything to drink for the past three days.

"Eep!" The sound escapes your lips as you flinch for the umpteenth time that night, and you can't help but think how awesomely manly that was. You again wonder how it's possible for your fucked-up mind to make jokes at critical tines, but you soon realize that she hasn't pulled the trigger yet and push those thoughts away. Slowly, cautiously, you risk a glance past the weapon.

The girl's face is tense but she's not looking at you. She's more focused on the span of your forehead and aiming her gun for the center. But she's hesitating. You can see her index finger flex and relax only because it's so close to your face.

Her gaze flicks over and meets yours after a heartbeat. It's furious and frustrated and torn and for a girl who goes to such an extent to hide her identity, she's doing a horrible job.

Finally, her brow furrows and she lowers the gun to point at the ground. She releases one hand and clenched it into a fist before relaxing it. Repeat.

Another heartbeat.

"Boy, you had better not be a Morello." She hisses the words from behind the bandana, and at first you're not sure what she even said.

"Mor-?" You've barely uttered the syllable before your voice dies in your throat. A rough grip latches onto the front of your flimsy shirt and panic rips through your chest. Gravity fails you and the sky comes rushing down.

And then you're being dragged through the doorway.

* * *

A/N: So sorry for not getting this out sooner! I've been super busy with stuff at home and with school. I hope updates will be more regular but SIMI is going to be my first priority since this fic is supposed to be just for fun. I won't neglect it or anything like that, but if I'm falling behind in SIMI I'll probably work on that first. Hope you guys liked this chapter, sorry it's so short. I just wanted to post something already. Please review and follow and favorite! c:


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